


Oblivious

by fireflysglow_archivist



Category: Firefly
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-08-29
Updated: 2003-08-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 10:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14470338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireflysglow_archivist/pseuds/fireflysglow_archivist
Summary: "There was a magic to him that she couldn't fully explain, only made stronger by the fact that he seemed entirely unaware of it.”





	Oblivious

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Firefly’s Glow](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Firefly%27s_Glow), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Firefly's Glow collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/fireflysglow/profile).

 

Oblivious

## Oblivious

### by Rawles

Disclaimer: _Serenity_ , her inhabitants, and the 'verse she travels are Joss's toys, not mine. I'm playing with them in an attempt to fill the sucking vacuum left in my soul thanks to the fact that FOX network executives have the collective intelligence of a medium-sized walnut. No harm intended... well, to Joss anyway. 

Thank You: Joss Whedon, for creating endearing characters, and Sean Maher, for being sexy and talented. Because of them I can scare my family with my obsessive fixation on a fictional character... again. 

Feedback: Yes, please. Toss it over to rawles@daydreemz.com if you're so inclined. 

Archiving: Be kind. Ask first. 

Author's Notes: I read a lot of fanfiction. Write it? Not so much. This is my first _Firefly_ fic. My third fic ever, more or less. I have no beta reader. There is no real rhyme or reason to this. Just something that popped into my head. 

Since I like being presumptuous and it wasn't clarified in canon I'm assuming some stuff. 

Main thing I'm taking for granted is that in the _Firefly_ 'verse it still takes around nine years to become a doctor (Four years of pre-med undergrad studies for a BS. Four years of med school. _At least_ a year as an intern). Being that he's gifted and young and all I'm asserting that Simon accomplished this all in about six years. I'm assuming, based on information offered in canon, that he worked as a trauma surgeon on Osiris for a little under three years. And finally, I'm assuming, from things implied in canon, that Simon was about 23 or 24 when he first set foot on _Serenity_. If you don't like my math or my logic... too bad. It's my fic. So there. :-P Actually, in all honesty, I'm argumentative. If you disagree with me, feel free to convince me otherwise. Only politely. Because that's what civilized people do. 

Spoilers: Not a one. Though, some "subtle insertions" (Hah!) allude to episodes in the series, they're not things that you'll identify unless you've seen the actual episodes. If you haven't seen the actual episodes they'll mean nothing to you. 

Now read the story, dammit. 

* * *

She knew those eyes. She saw them when she closed her own. Piercing blue invaders, slicing through the tapestry of her dreams, taking over her subconscious. She'd thought that she'd never see them again. Actually, she'd desperately hoped. Those eyes and their owner made things complicated in her life. 

And he didn't even know. 

He'd looked up when she walked into the room and she was lost. She stared for a moment, before she noticed that there was something different. 

"Can I help you?" he asked softly. 

Of course, it had been over a year since she'd seen him. She'd changed too. Apparently, not enough. 

She found her voice. 

"Dr. Tam." No. Too softly. Like a whisper. Like a prayer. Try again. "Dr. Tam, I'm the new intern. I was told to report to the-" 

"Senior resident, of course," he finished for her. "Please, forgive me. I've been distr- please sit down." He waved at the chair in front of his stark desk, something flashing through his eyes that she could not identify. She still couldn't quite put her finger on what was different. 

She tried to voice a response. A polite, charming "Thank you." as she had been taught since childhood. Everything she knew abandoned her when she was near him. She sat silently. 

He moved some papers, covered with neat handwriting, from his desk into a drawer and she heard the click of a lock. His eyes darted nervously for moment, then calmed, then landed on a stack of files that he hadn't swept away into hiding. She could make out names on them from her vantage point. She recognized a few, including her own. He moved the stack in front of him and paused. 

"Marissa Zhang," she offered and waited. He found the file quickly and opened it, gazing at it impassively. He betrayed no recognition. 

"You don't remember me," she said after a moment of him studying her file. She tried not to make it sound like an accusation, but she was certain she had failed on that count. 

Confusion passed over his face, tinged slightly with embarrassment... and annoyance. It had definitely been an accusation. His hand went absently to his ear for a moment before he spoke. A nervous tendency of his. She remembered it clearly. God. What was wrong with her? Her wedding was in three months. 

"I, uh, I'm sor- should I-," he hovered between responses, attempting to walk the delicate balance between deception and insult. 

"We went to medacad together," Marissa offered. 

"Oh." 

"Though, you obviously graduated a bit before me," she added with a small smile. 

The corners of his mouth twitched upward slightly. His eyes were not smiling. The new thing. She had identified it. Weariness. He was haggard and harried... and sad. She wanted to take him into her arms, into her bed, into herself, and make it better. If only she knew what "it" was. 

Murmurs from walking the hospital halls returned to her. 

*"Young Dr. Tam's going over the edge."* 

*"Something about his sister..."* 

*"Poor boy. Too much stress for him."* 

*"They say he's starting to have paranoid delusions."* 

*"I heard it's something criminal, that he's been seen conversing with di ji types."* 

"We had classes together?" he asked. 

"A few," she said. "We shared some acquaintances, as well." 

That was a stretch. She had known people. Everyone had known _of_ Simon Tam. The Tams were among the most prominent families in the Core. Old money. Good genes. Two genius children. The little girl who they said could do just about anything and the older boy who had a special gift for medicine. They said he was destined to be a brilliant doctor. 

After the first class she'd ever been in with him, she'd believed it. Marissa had never seen such serious, focused dedication. He watched the instructor and took his notes as though lives already depended on it. He didn't speak much. Didn't socialize. Marissa supposed being significantly younger and smarter than most of the other students made him feel awkward. It was what had first drawn her to him. 

She initiated conversations and he would respond politely. They didn't speak every day and they never spoke for extensive amounts of time, really. She felt that she came to know him in those conversations all the same. 

The passion with which he spoke of becoming a surgeon warmed her. She admired his selflessness and desire to help people, when he could just as easily have lived the perfect life without giving a good gorram about anyone but himself. The way he spoke of his sister with nothing but adoration in his voice charmed her. She couldn't imagine not resenting a little sister who made her own admirable intelligence look like nothing. When he spoke of River, Marissa knew that they were best friends as well as siblings. There was a magic to him that she couldn't fully explain, only made stronger by the fact that he seemed entirely unaware of it. 

She had never called it love. What use did she have for love? She was betrothed. She'd known whom she would spend the rest of her life with since she was sixteen. It was a political and social machination. Her own desire could not save her. Her studies could not save her. A career could not save her. She knew this. 

But when she looked at Simon Tam and saw his kindness and nobility, his intelligence and selflessness, her mind imagined him her hero. Her mind saw him somehow knowing her pain and taking her and making it go away. 

"We worked on a project together didn't we?" he asked, somewhat hesitantly. 

"For microbiology." She fought for control over her facial muscles. Smiling too widely was unseemly. 

A full smile graced his face then. It disappeared quickly, as though it had been a slip, something he wasn't allowed. 

"Is there something wrong?" she asked him, knowing full well that she shouldn't have. He was making a noble effort to hide whatever was bothering him. He had been since she'd entered the room. It was rude to ignore those efforts. 

A dozen emotions played over his face and a story flashed in his eyes. A long story, sad and unfinished, she sensed. 

"No. Not at all," he lied. 

She wanted to tell him that he could tell her. He could tell her this and anything else. She wanted to tell him that she wished desperately to be a part of his life, that she wanted to help him and to fill whatever void existed within him. When she looked at him now, so alone, it barely mattered that it would spare her from her own unwelcome fate, as well. 

Marissa searched for the words but they would not come. 

Instead the cortex screen on the wall just to the right of his desk beeped. A static-filled image of a rather grungy looking man flickered there. Marissa tried not to stare. 

"I, uh, need to take this. It-it's urgent. We can reschedule this for later," he said distractedly. 

"Of course." 

He rose as she did and showed her to the door. 

"It's nice seeing you again." She would have believed him if every muscle in his body hadn't screamed that he wanted to be at that screen, talking with that disreputable looking person, more than he wished to be bidding her farewell. 

"Yes," she said as she walked slowly out the door. He had already returned to the cortex screen. He whispered urgently at the screen. Something about contacting him at work. The man on the screen seemed nonplussed. A meeting was mentioned. And a blackout zone. 

He didn't notice that she was still there. She wanted to go back and tell him that this was wrong. That whatever he was doing, whatever he was becoming involved in, was not worth all this anguish. He was killing himself over it. Marissa couldn't save herself but she wanted to save him. She would have done almost anything, given up everything, to make him better. 

Only she couldn't. 

He didn't know her. Barely remembered her. Didn't trust her. She was bound by family and by duty. There was nothing she could do for him or herself. It killed her inside. She loved him. 

And he'd never even know. 

She closed the door behind her without making a sound. 

**THE END.**

#### If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Rawles


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